


spending time with you (is like cheating on my diet)

by isawet



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: AU, Crossover, Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:16:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isawet/pseuds/isawet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is a White Court incubus vampire and Steve is a Knight of the Cross. Dresden Files AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	spending time with you (is like cheating on my diet)

Tony happens to be in the middle of nowhere, Central America when Harry Dresden completely annihilates an entire race, and the death of the Red Court roars up inside his demon, the blood rushing in his ears. When he comes back to himself the pretty little blonde thing he was playing with is slumped over, eyes milky with death. Tony sighs. He hasn’t accidentally killed his food since puberty. He trades a playful leer and a flirty wink to a street vendor for a baseball cap and heads towards the source of the magical boom, pulls the bill low over his hair.

//

The pyramid is a massacre. Tony stumbles around the edges of entire fields piled with corpses, animal and human and vampire twisted in grotesque poses, and the steps are completely coated in thick layers of dark blood. The altar is still dripping, and the body of small child is buzzing with flies. Tony barely makes it to the treeline before he falls to his knees and starts to vomit.

He comes back to himself, sitting on the ground with knobby tree roots pressing against his legs and shaking. There’s a bird with bright feathers looking at him from its perch on a large rock.

“I,” Tony says, his throat rough, and his stomach rolls again and he throws up all over his own lap.

//

Tony saves Steve’s life by accident. He’s walking back from the hospital, whistling a little, when his ears pick up the distant sounds of a struggle, the undeniable echo of a sword glancing off steel construction beams. He ducks into the half-built warehouse and a feline creature with a tail of frost leaps at him. Tony shakes his arm, and a chain of iron links falls from his wrist onto his knuckles. He punches the creature in the face and it rears back, keening in pain, its face a bubbling, melted mess. _Fae_ , he thinks.

Tony steps over it, hitting it again in the throat and then half kneels over it and snaps its neck in a smooth motion. When he straightens a blonde man has a sword two inches from his face. Tony goes a little cross eyed looking at it, and it takes him a minute to recognize the glow of it, the holy shine to the blade. There’s a bloody nail embedded in the hilt. Tony knows that sword.

“Amoracchius,” he says, instantly wary. The man tilts his head at Tony.

“You know who I am?” he asks. “Then you know who I serve.”

“You’re a Knight of the Cross,” Tony says.

“My name is Steven,” the man says, and lowers his weapon. “And what are you?” Tony smiles a little despite himself, because he knows he doesn’t quite look the part of the White Court anymore. He looks older than most the vampires his age, and he has lines in his face and scars on his hands. Not feeding to excess has stripped him of the statuesque features he used to have, he no longer has the unblemished skin and ethereal glow like the rest of his family.

“Can’t you guess?” he asks, and lets just a little of the Hunger out, a few tendrils of appreciation for the blonde cowlick that falls into Steven’s face, the way the definition of his muscles are obvious through his shirt. Steven rocks forward, and the Hunger rises, threatens to rip its way from Tony’s chest. Tony turns, pressing a fist to his sternum, and regains control.

“Incubus,” Steven says, and brings his sword up again. Tony shrugs.

“Only a little bit, nowdays. I’m out of the political game. I work down the street.” Tony gestures in the general direction of the hospital. He leers, and enjoys the way Steven shies away. “What brings you into my gin joint, Steve?”

“Steven,” Steve says, and Tony shrugs.

“You wanna come back to my place?” Steve snorts, and Tony grins a little. Steve hoists an honest to good shield, a slightly curved disk of lightweight metal, up onto his back, and the action causes a wave of his scent to breeze through the air.

Tony stands up straight. Steve steps back, drawing his coat around him, but Tony sniffs at the air, leans into him and breathes in his sweat.

“My my,” Tony says, and licks his lips. Steve stares at his mouth, and his breath comes faster. “A virgin,” Tony breathes, and sways involuntarily. He takes a step towards Steve, his foot dragging across the ground. It feels like a line is hooked into his navel, and his Hunger demands he licks a line up Steve’s neck. He can feel his eyes go heavy lidded, and his movements turn into liquid grace. He’s half hard already.

Steve slaps him in the face with the broad of his sword. Tony staggers back, his cheek stinging and the taste of blood in his mouth. “I accept your offer of hospitality,” he says, and Tony gapes at him, still coming back to reason.

“You--what?”

“I accept,” Steve says, and the colour is high in his cheeks, his chest is still rising and falling rapidly. “your offer of lodgings for the night. By the laws of hospitality you are required to ensure my well-being.”

Tony smiles with all of his teeth. “I am no longer affiliated with any House.”

Steve snorts. “You’ll always belong to your Court.” Tony snarls, dropping his human mask and hissing like the monster he is, and Steve just smirks. Amoracchius glows with an unnatural light, and Tony steps back.

“I live this way,” Tony says finally.

//

The second time Tony meets Steve he’s in the House of Raith, and Thomas is trying to convince him to become a bodyguard.

“I’m sure Justine is lovely, but--Ah,” he says, smirking, “Steve of the Sword of Christ.”

“Anthony of the House of Stark,” Steve says, and Tony’s lip curls.

“There is no House of Stark,” he says coldly. He offers Thomas Raith a little finger wave.  
Steve catches him at the exit.

“No offer of hospitality?” he asks. Tony arches an eyebrow at him.

“So eager to be deflowered?” he asks. “Don’t worry, I ate earlier. My meal even walked away afterwards.” Steve’s mouth twists in displeasure.

“I’m being called to the children’s ward at Mercy General,” he says, “and I hear you work there.”

“Does he actually call you?” Tony asks. “Is there a Holy Red Telephone? He shines a cross into the sky?”

“He,” Steve says.

“What?”

“He,” Steve repeats, with a faint emphasis. “You weren’t capitalizing, I could tell.”

Tony stares at him. “I do work at the hospital,” he says finally. “I can get you in after hours.”

“We’ll go tonight,” Steve says, and holds his hand out. “Keys.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll wait in your residence until it’s time.”

Tony gapes at him, and then bristles. “You will _not_. You can come with me to work.”

“Fine,” Steve says. “Where’s your car?”

Tony scratches at the back of his head. “We could take yours?”

“You don’t have a car.” Steve’s voice is flat.

“I usually steal one from Lara--it keeps our relationship freshly homicidal. You know us immortalish types, always finding this mortal coil a bit stale.”

Steve casts his eyes to the heavens. “Why,” he asks, and seems to seriously expect an answer. Tony waits him out.

“You do have a car, right?”

//

Steve surveys Tony’s office with something approaching disdain. Tony shoves the drawers closed, papers fluttering to the ground, and sweeps a pile of forms off his chair onto the floor.

“A throne, your Holiness,” he says. Steve gingerly perches on the edge of the chair.

“You’re not a doctor,” he says, and reaches out to touch the tiny anatomically correct model of a pair of legs that adorns Tony’s desk, intricate replication of muscles and tendons and bone.

“No,” Tony says, searching through the piles stacked on his desk. “I’m a physical therapist.” He unearths his planner and checks it, then wiggles his fingers at Steve. “A little here, a little there.”

Steve’s lips thin into a straight white line. “You feed on your patients.”

Tony licks his lips, lewd, just to see Steve’s nostrils flare and his jaw flex. “Not enough to do lasting damage. They all leave just a little bit happier.”

“You prey on people who trust you,” Steve says. His spine is very rigid.

“Yes, you’re right,” Tony says, slapping a hand to his forehead in fake epiphany. “My god, it would be better if I starved myself, went insane, and went on a sex-crazed lust-induced spree killing.”

“Yes,” Steve says, “that is what I meant. Obviously.” His molars grind together audibly.

“Maybe I should just kill myself,” Tony says, “place myself in the hands of your God. Meet the sun and go to meet my maker, who made me in His own image.”

Steve frowns. “The sun doesn’t hurt you.”

“Melanoma is a silent killer,” Tony says. “I got lunch waiting for me in waiting room three so if you’re good here...”

Steve twitches. “I’m fine,” he says.

//

Tony is making notes in the file of a sixteen year old softball athlete with a fucked up ankle when a ghoul tries to kill him.

He sees the kid with the hoodie and the shitty looking jeans sagged down past his ass, but Tony doesn’t think very much of it until the kid’s hand goes into his pocket and comes out with a curved blade and a wickedly pointed tip he promptly tries to stab into Tony’s brain via his inner ear.

Tony blocks it with his stack of files, which slows the blade down enough so that it grazes his temple instead of deafening him, and the edge is so sharp he doesn’t even feel it at first, just a trickle of wet down his cheek. It’s going to take him weeks to redo all that paperwork and recreate those charts, and that knowledge makes him angry enough to tap into the well of strength he usually tries to avoid utilizing. He grabs the kid by the face and smashes him into the wall. He grabs a stapler from a nearby tabletop and beats the kids nose into his face, grimacing as it flickers, dropping all human features and reverting to its true nature.

“Ghoul,” he says, disgusted.

“Tony?” a voice squeaks, and he turns to see Claire, the sixteen year old with the ankle that won’t quit.

“Um,” he says, and puts the hand with the murder weapon in it behind his leg. “Did you collect the printouts of your ankle pilates from the front desk?”

Clare stares at him. Tony scratches his nose with is free hand. The stapler drips black-blood goo on the ground. The window explodes in a scream of breaking glass and two more ghouls rolls to their feet, not even trying to look human.

“Thank god,” Tony says, and blurs into action. He grabs Claire by the waist, lifting her clear off her feet without pausing and going for the door. He flings it open and is met by the business edge of Amoracchius headed for his face. Claire screams, and Tony topples them backwards, his head knocking against the floor. 

Steve steps over them, shouting in Latin, and finishes his swing, lopping the entire arm off one ghoul and turning to drive the sword hilt into the other ghoul’s face. He fixes Claire with a reassuring smile. “The Lord hears all prayers.”

“Oh save the missionary bullshit.” Tony says with an eyeroll, and shoves at Claire. “Go go go,” he says, and she takes off, half-limping on her bad ankle and her sneakers squeaking with every stride. Tony twists, still half on the ground, and kicks at the ghoul’s legs. The ghoul trips, snarling, and falls through an eerie green light, turning to fine grains of black sand. Tony stares at it.

“Huh,” he says. Steve offers him a hand up, and behind him Tony can see the other ghoul lying facedown with a broadsword shaped hole in his chest. Tony frowns. “We should go,” he starts to say, and stops as he hears footsteps, approaching fast. A hand appears out of thin air to Tony’s left and yanks Steve backwards. Steve abruptly vanishes from view just as four security guards and a police officer arrive.

“There!” Claire says, shoving forward through the group of them. “I told you, these crazy guys broke in and just started screaming.”

“Yes,” Tony says, laying on the charm, “thank god they were more angry at each other than with me.”

“Look at their faces,” Claire says, “totally on drugs.”

“We’re going to need you to come down and give a statement,” Police Officer says, still staring at the carnage.

The adrenaline from the fight is ebbing now, and Tony has expended himself more than he has in weeks. He can tell by the way Claire is looking at him like the sun is shining out of his face, and how even the burly security guards are leaned towards him, their faces slightly slack. 

“Now,” Tony drawls, and drags a hand through his hair, tracking the pairs of eyes that follow his fingers. “will that really be necessary?” Tony stretches, arching the lean line of his spine.

 

It isn’t necessary.

//

It’s another three months before Tony sees Steve again.

“Oh no,” he says, holding a hand out. There’s sunscreen on his fingers, dripping to the boardwalk under his feet. “I’m on vacation. You’re not going to ruin my vacation.”

“I’m here on business,” Steve says. “I heard you were going to be in the area.”

“Who’s your friend?” Tony asks, squinting back to the parking lot where a dark skinned man is lounging against a rental car.

“A business associate,” Steve says, and Tony waggles his eyebrows.

“One of those,” he says. “What are we hunting?”

“Fae,” Steve says, and then his eyes widen in surprise. “You’re going to help?”

Tony wipes the excess sunscreen off on his shirt. “Well it’s ruined now, might as well.” Tony starts walking towards the parking lot, Steve falling into step by his side. “I wouldn’t have picked this as a your prime vacation spot,” he says.

Tony grins. “What could be better than the freezing waves beating the rocky shores of the San Francisco Bay?”

“Sharks,” Steve adds, and Tony laughs.

“Were you expecting me to be in Florida, relaxing on a topless beach?” Tony smirks at him. “Like a buffet.”

Steve just looks at him. “That’s why you didn’t go. Too tempting?”

Tony shifts, unsettled. “No. I just don’t want to spend my entire vacation exercising control.”

“Why did you?” Steve asks, “Decide to control yourself.”

They reach the paved lot, and Tony knocks the soles of his shoes against the curb, getting the worst of the sand out of the tread. “I have my secrets,” he says, and turns his attention to the other man and the rental car. “This isn’t very environmentally friendly,” he says, gesturing to the black SUV.

“I don’t roll in no hybrid,” The other man says, and offers his hand. “Carlos Ramirez.” Tony shakes it.

“Tony Stark,” he says, “your friendly neighbourhood succubus.”

“Incubus,” Steve corrects. Tony flips Ramirez’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. Ramirez pulls back.

“Sorry,” he says, grinning. His teeth flash white against dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes. Tony sways into him before catching himself and stepping back. “I’d bat for the other other team but the ladies would revolt.”

“That’s interesting,” Tony says, “considering you’re a virgin.” He leans in a little, so the breeze blows past Carlos and he can smell him on the wind. He turns back to Steve.

“Is there a club? Are you president? I didn’t think there were any virgins left in the world over the age of sixteen.”

“Wyld fae,” Steve reminds him, and steers them both into the car.

 

“So,” Tony says when they’ve settled into the car and pulled out onto the highway, “you’re the one in the hospital, with the transmutation.”

“Creatures of the Never Never into sand,” Ramirez says, “that’s me.”

“Your veils are very good,” Tony says, fucking around with the seat controls until he reclines his chair and stretches out. “I didn’t even know you were there.”

“I’m very talented,” Ramirez says. “I try only to use my powers for good, not evil.”

“I’m also very talented,” Tony says, and catches Ramirez’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He tilts his head back and runs his fingers over his adam’s apple. The SUV swerves slightly to the left before straightening back.

“Stop that,” Steve says.

//

Thirteen weird cat frog hybrid creatures later and Tony is staggering with the Hunger. He falls against the wall and a fae lunges for his jugular.

“ _Fuego_!” Ramirez shouts to his right, and a lance of fire rushes by in a blast of heat, setting the fae, the walls and the ceiling of the hallway on fire, racing down the floor and frying two more fae advancing on them.

“Holy shit,” Tony says, as Ramirez hooks an arm over his shoulder and starts pulling him towards the stairs. “What happened to sand?”

“Trick from a friend,” Ramirez says, as they bang their way through the door marked _emergency exit_. “what’s wrong with you? You were kicking ass and suddenly I see you fall on your ass. You hit?”

“No,” Tony says, and catches sight of himself in one of the fishbowl security mirrors hung in the corners of the stairway. His eyes have gone suddenly bright, almost glowing, and his skin is pale white marble. “Let go of me,” he says, his voice gone rough and hoarse.

“Hold on,” Ramirez says, “we’re almost--” he grunts as Tony picks him up by the belt and slams him against the steel railings. Tony shoves his nose into the junction of Ramirez’s neck and shoulder, and Ramirez shudders.

A hand closes around Tony’s shoulder and drags him off. Tony pulls Ramirez with him, his hand still hooked in his belt. He snarls and Steve punches him in the face. Tony rolls with the blow, stumbling away. “You take this ‘Fist of God’ business fairly seriously,” he says.

“You good?” Steve asks. Ramirez shakes his head to clear it, and Tony takes a deep breath.

“Try to sweat less,” Tony says, and the fire alarm goes off.

“I’ll get right on that,” Steve says, and grabs Ramirez by the shirtsleeve. “Let’s go.”

 

Tony pours himself into the backseat of the car, soot falling out of his hair. “Drop me at a club,” he rasps. “bright lights, loud music, line of people outside.”

“I know a place,” Ramirez says, and turns the engine over. Steve slides into the seat next to Tony. 

“That’s not a good idea,” Tony tells him, his head tilted back. He closes his eyes.

“How long have you been controlling your inner demon,” Steve asks, like they’re sitting down for a beer rather than actively fleeing the scene of an arson.

Tony blinks. “A while. It’s not that hard, actually. A little boring.” Ramirez takes a turn at sixty miles an hour and Tony flops against the door before straightening himself. 

“Tell me,” Steve says in that same even voice, “why you decided to walk away from your Court and your House and why you help me everytime I ask.”

“I,” Tony says, struggling. He punches the window for the flare of pain in his knuckles. Ramirez hits the breaks and they squeal to a stop. Tony feels the pull of the club, the pulse of drugs and dance and sweat and sex, and he opens the car door. “Sorry about the window,” he says distractedly.

Ramirez shrugs. “Eh. It’s a rental.”

Tony turns to grin at Steve. “I promised a tropical bird,” he says. Steve smiles.

“God be with you,” he says, and kicks him out of the car.

//

Tony rounds the corner at a sprint, bouncing off the walls, and changes directions abruptly as he catches sight of Steve about to enter the office building from the side exit.

“Nope,” he says, detouring to grab Steve by the sleeve. “we’re leaving, go go go.”

Steve tries to pull him to the left. “My car--”

“Believe me when I say there is no time,” Tony says, and the building behind him explodes, the force knocking them forward. Tony rolls, scrambling to his feet, and helps Steve up. “You good?”

Steve looks pained. “Everytime I see you it’s like working with Dresden. Fire, explosions, hordes of Never Never rejects.”

“Hey,” Tony says, “nothing going on here but some regular old familial homicide.”

“There was an undreage sex trafficking ring headquartered here,” Steve says.

Tony feels his face go hard. “My second cousin twice removed.”

“You killed him?”

“I ate her,” Tony says. Steve nods at him, looking thoughtful. “It’s been handled.”

Steve surveys the remnants of the building. “I can see that. My rental car is on fire.” Tony shrugs.

“So you lose your deposit.”

“This is going to be hell on my insurance,” Steve says with a sigh. Tony scruffles a hand through his hair.

“So,” he says. “I know this great shawarma place around the corner?” Steve puts Amoracchius in a dark nylon duffel bag and slings it over one shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, “I can eat.”

//

They leave the restaurant late. Tony feels full and comfortable, the Hunger curled up in his chest like a cat and the food sitting pleasantly in his stomach. He’d made Steve smile almost five times in four hours.

“A new record,” he tells Steve, who looks at him a little confused.

“Are you drunk?”

“Loooove drunk,” Tony says, and swings an arm around Steve’s shoulders, feeling not even a twinge of interest. “I don’t even want to eat you,” he says cheerfully. “Well,” he amends, “not in the succubus sense.”

“Incubus.”

“Just the carnal biblical sense,” Tony finishes. “Because you’re hot,” he adds, in case Steve hadn’t gotten that. 

“Thank you,” Steve says politely.

A horrible thought occurs to Tony, and he stops dead on the sidewalk, just outside the halo of light cast under a streetlamp. Steve jerks as he tries to keep walking and is yanked back by Tony’s arm. “Do you think homosexuality is a sin?”

Steve pulls Tony around, his hand on the back of Tony’s neck. “God loves all of his children.”

Tony pushes at him, forces a laugh. “I’m hardly one of his children.”

“Hm,” Steve says, and they start walking again. It’s cold out, their breath puffing out like fog, and their strides suit each other. Tony cracks his neck and knocks his shoulder against Steve’s. Steve knocks him back, grinning. 

“You need help again you know where I’m at,” Tony says when they reach Steve’s hotel. Steve claps him on the shoulder.

“You’re a good man, Tony Stark.”

//

“Hey,” Tony’s landlord calls to him. “Two crazy guys tried to break into your apartment, I chased them off.”

Tony freezes, frowning. He closes his fingers around the knife in his pocket. “What did they look like?”

“Dunno, a wetback and a religious freak. Kept shouting in Latin. Hey--I don’t want no trouble in my lots.”

Tony starts taking the stairs two at a time, fumbling at his keys. “Yeah yeah,” he calls, “you get paid on time.”

His apartment door is ajar, and he slides in carefully. “Steve?” The air around his couch shimmers, and then shakes, revealing Ramirez standing over Steve, who is busy bleeding all over fake leather.

“He’s okay,” Ramirez says. “I stitched him up, but I got business in Arizona. Can he stay the night?”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “What happened?”

Ramirez grimaces. “Sixteen stitches. Yeti.”

Tony gapes. “No shit?”

Ramirez grabs his bag off the floor and pulls on a grey cloak, worn and mended but clean. “Yeah. Fucking Dresden, man. Catch you later.” He disappears under a veil and Tony’s door creaks 

Tony locks the door behind him and starts looking through his tiny galley kitchen for a can of soup that hasn’t expired yet.

 

“Okay,” he says, and nudges Steve with his foot. “wake up. I come bearing stew.” Steve blinks at him.

“Really?” he rasps. Tony wiggles the bowl at him.

“Two days to expiration,” he says proudly. 

“Delicious,” Steve says drily, but sits up carefully and takes the bowl.

“Let me check your stitches,” Tony says, pushing at his shirt. Steve grumbles through a mouthful of lukewarm meat and potato, but doesn’t stop Tony from skimming his fingers around the gash up Steve’s side.

“What’re you doin?” Steve asks, licking at the salty brown gravy on his spoon.

“Massage,” Tony says, pressing against every rib and the spaces in between, checking carefully. “I am actually a professional.”

Steve stretches out, putting his bowl down on the ground. “I remember.” Tony moves up to his chest and shoulders, and Steve sighs, relaxing back into the couch.

“Go to sleep,” Tony says, “you can eat more in the morning.”

“Mm,” Steve says, and lets his eyes close.

//

Tony can’t remember how he got to the alley. He can barely remember his name.

“Tony,” someone says, and Tony gargles. He’s lying facedown in a puddle of dirty rainwater, and the taste of wet concrete is heavy on his tongue.

“Stark,” someone says, and he’s pulled up and dragged to a car. Someone tosses him into the backseat and throws water on his face. Tony gasps.

“Steve,” he says, and tries to clear his head. Steve pours water into his mouth and Tony swallows reflexively. 

“And me,” Ramirez says from the driver’s side door. “the person who actually saved your ass.”

“What happened?” Tony blinks rapidly, trying to remember.

“Denarians,” Ramirez says, “you were helping us out.”

Tony remembers this, a little. “Fucking fallen angels. Did we kill it?”

“Hell no,” Ramirez says. “this is us running away in terror. We’re en route to the Raiths, you safe with them?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, “Lara owes me a favour.” Steve is staring at him, and his face flares in and out of focus as they go under streetlight after streetlight. His eyes are dilated, and his breath is coming fast. Tony’s legs fall open and Steve crawls between them, lays his body weight over Tony.

“Hey!” Ramirez says, panicky, but Tony isn’t listening. He surges up and meets Steve’s mouth, and for one tiny fraction of a nanosecond he can taste Steve, a little sour from the battle and a hit of his sweat and Steve, clean and sharp and pure.

And then Tony’s mouth feels like its been set on fire. He shoves Steve away, screaming, and wherever his hands touch Steve’s skin blisters form on his skin, painful red and white sores that hurt worse than anything Tony has ever felt before. He curls against the door, panting.

“Tony,” Steve says, and Tony grunts.

“But you’re still a virgin,” he mumbles, because he’s never had the pleasure of feeling that before but he knows what it is. It love, real love, and it doesn’t make sense because that protection is given through the love of another person. “Doesn’t make sense.”

“We’re here,” Ramirez says. “Come on.”

“I’ll talk to Ms. Raith,” Steve says, catching Tony’s eyes. “You won’t kill anyone.”

“Thanks,” Tony says, staggering out of the car. 

“You’re not the only one who has favours to cash in on,” Steve says, and then hands close over Tony’s arms and he’s lifted off and away.

//

Lara is waiting for him to wake up. “You didn’t hurt anyone.” She pauses, tall and gorgeous and utterly cruel. “Not badly enough they can’t recover, anyway.”

Tony sits up and stretches. Most his injuries have healed without a scar. “Thanks.”

Laura curls her lip at him. “Another one of my family running around doing... good deeds.” She sounds so deeply offended that Tony smiles.

“We’re very distant family,” he offers.

Lara looks a little comforted. “That’s true.” Tony stands, giving himself a little shake.

“Well,” he says, “thanks for everything and all that.”

“Who did you touch,” she asks curiously. “with the protection. Not that little wizard.”

“Don’t remember,” Tony says blandly. 

“The Knight,” Lara says thoughtfully. “But he’s a virgin too.”

“Can’t be him, then,” Tony says, pulling on his shoes and starting to tie up the laces. “sex is what gives the protection. Everyone knows that.”

“There’s an exception,” Lara says, staring at him. “if the love is returned by the other party. True love, pure love.”

“I guess he has a lady love stashed away somewhere,” Tony says, standing. He pulls on his jacket. “Bye, Lara.”

“First Thomas,” Lara says with a sigh. “now you. I do hope it’s not catching.”

//

There’s a brown paper bag of canned groceries on Tony’s couch, with a note stapled to the top.

 _see you around_ , it says, and it’s signed in Steve’s neat blocky writing _I asked the Big Guy to look out for you. He owes me a favour_. Tony rips the bag open to find six stocky cans of Dinty Moore beef stew, and the brown paper crinkles in his fingers.

 

He thinks about how Steve smells, like clean unscented soap, and remembers the touch of his tongue against Steve’s before it started to burn.

**Author's Note:**

> tralalalalalala /headdesk


End file.
